TLDR: Darrick died, came back to life, then died again.
After dying twice, he now stood in front of the town gate, not daring to go in at all—hesitating like a lizard too afraid to fight.
The first death happened entirely because he hadn't understood the situation before getting swarmed by monsters. There were at least dozens of them, and they were clearly organized. Melee units charged in head-on, while ranged units hurled spells from afar, their coordination frighteningly precise.
The sequence went like this: just as he tried to retreat, he was knocked to the ground. He scrambled back to his feet, only to find himself completely surrounded. One second he rolled to dodge a monster's claw swipe; the next, he was caught in spell recovery lag. Pain surged through his body, his movements stiff and sluggish—what everyone called hit stun.
Being stunned while surrounded by monsters…
There was no need to describe what happened next.
Darrick didn't even manage to activate his wolf blood. He couldn't counterattack at all before the monsters each took a swipe, efficiently and mercilessly sending him off—returning him, gloriously, to the starting point.
This pocket dimension was still relatively merciful. From the starting point to the town was only about a hundred meters, and there were no monsters along the way.
That first death had terrified him. He had thought dying would kick him out of the painting world entirely.
When he was younger, he'd heard stories about magical paintings and books that could suck people inside. Once expelled, there was always a chance the artifact itself would be damaged.
No! He had worked far too hard to collect this painting!
Thankfully, the paintings produced by the Sein Dungeon were of exceptional quality. Not only was it unharmed, but after dying, he was simply sent back to the starting point.
After reviving the first time, Darrick devised a plan: lure all the monsters inside the town out, then slip inside while they were gone.
The town was designed like a small fortress. From where he stood now, he could see a fog gate not far away on the opposite side.
Without a doubt, that was where the boss monster was.
What he hadn't expected was how conspicuously the fog gate had been placed.
Unfortunately, the route leading to it was heavily guarded by monsters. Charging straight in was clearly impossible—he'd have to use his brain.
Activating his wolf blood, Darrick maneuvered carefully, successfully drawing out most of the monsters. As for the remaining few, as long as he handled them cautiously, he should be able to—
Just as he reached about two-thirds of the distance to the fog gate, he heard the unmistakable sound of bowstrings being drawn tight.
Darrick jolted.
Every hair on his body stood on end as a wave of danger washed over him.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
In an instant, massive ballista bolts—each taller and heavier than a person—rained down like a storm.
An ambush.
There were ballista hidden on the city walls!
Worse still, they had waited until he was halfway across the open path, with nowhere to hide, before firing.
Darrick narrowly dodged the first volley. A second wave came from the opposite side. He avoided that one at the cost of a grazed arm—only for yet another volley to follow immediately after.
Three ballista teams.
They fired in rotation. By the time the third finished shooting, the first had already reloaded.
Endless. Relentless.
"God damn it—!"
After his second revival, Darrick was so angry he nearly cursed out loud. It had been a long time since his emotions had surged this violently.
It was obvious now—forcing his way through the front gate was absolutely impossible. If he'd had an invisibility scroll and a silence scroll, maybe he could've snuck in. Roger would probably thrive in a place like this.
"Is there… another entrance?"
While pacing near the gate, he suddenly noticed a puddle of illusory blood on the ground. It was called illusory because even if you touched it, it wouldn't stick to your hands.
But touching it triggered something unexpected.
"Huh—this person…" Darrick's eyes widened.
After touching the bloodstain, he saw a red phantom appear. It repeatedly rolled around, again and again, until it was suddenly struck by something invisible. Its movement paused for just a moment.
That single pause was enough.
The phantom was instantly torn apart by a barrage of unseen attacks.
Darrick's face darkened.
He touched the blood again. The same scene replayed, looping like a recorded memory.
The phantom's death was almost comical. Its final pose was downright ridiculous—perfect material for slapstick humor.
But Darrick couldn't laugh.
Because that phantom looked exactly like him.
"Killing someone by attacking their heart…" he muttered through clenched teeth.
That damned Dungeon.
So it even recorded and replayed how people died?
What was this supposed to be—mockery?
He looked back into the town. Another bloodstain lay halfway along the path.
There was no need to guess—that one was from when he'd been shot to death by the ballista.
Darrick's expression nearly cracked.
No one wanted to see themselves die—especially not in such an embarrassing way.
"Wait."
A horrifying thought struck him, his eyelids twitching uncontrollably.
"People who come here later… will they be able to see the bloodstains I left behind too?"
At that realization, his hands began to tremble.
Today my hands shake, my heart aches, I—I…
I don't want anyone to see how miserably I died!
This wasn't a game where everyone hid behind usernames. Adventurers here knew each other in real life.
What if people started chatting in taverns like—
"Hey, you know Darrick? I saw how he died last time—so funny, hahaha!"
The future instantly turned pitch-black.
Enough.
What mattered now was finding another way in.
Dejected, he wandered around the perimeter—and to his surprise, found a small side door. Entering through it allowed access to the interior of the buildings. Maybe, if he kept going, he could reach the fog gate from inside.
Perhaps due to the monsters, the interior felt cold and eerie, sending chills crawling up his spine.
After climbing to a higher vantage point, he could see a magnificent city in the distance.
Maybe that was the real Oolacile.
The town—no, the fortress—he was currently in stood squarely between the forest and the city. Without killing the monster behind the fog gate, there was no way forward.
Darrick carefully explored the fortress.
Clear signs of militarization were everywhere—broken weapons and staves lay scattered across the ground, buried under thick layers of dust. Time had left deep scars here.
It looked as though the place had been abandoned for ages.
He suddenly recalled the memories he'd seen of Artorias.
In those memories, Oolacile hadn't been this ruined.
Which meant a very, very long time had passed since Artorias's arrival.
Darrick's imagination began to run wild.
Would he meet Artorias on this journey? What kind of person was he? Could he take him as a master and learn a few techniques?
Oh, right—he'd also need to tell him about the Abyss Watchers.
The future looked beautiful.
But first, he had to deal with the monsters in front of him.
Ahead was a small room with an upward ladder. A few scattered monsters wandered inside. By the time he finished dealing with them, he was already panting heavily.
Artorias slaughtered these things like vegetables… so why does every single one give me such a hard time?
At that moment, Darrick truly understood just how vast the gap between himself and the Wolf Knight was.
An entire universe apart.
"There won't be monsters ambushing from above, right?"
He stared at the ladder for a moment—
Then he heard chaotic footsteps behind him.
"Woof! Woof!"
He spun around just in time to see several abyss-corrupted dogs lunging straight at his face.
Third revival.
Darrick stared blankly ahead, his eyes filled with a single word:
Confused.
"What… just happened?"
He had been cornered in that small room and bitten to death?
The space was too narrow—rolling was difficult. When fighting the earlier monsters, he'd carefully lured them out one by one.
As he replayed the scene in his mind, anger surged visibly across his face.
"If you were going to put dogs there, why not ambush me while I was fighting the monsters?!"
Why wait until everything was finished—right when he was about to climb the ladder—to pull something like this?
This was deliberate psychological warfare.
He re-entered the fortress through the side door. This time, he dealt with the monsters quickly and climbed the ladder before the dogs could strike.
Watching them bark helplessly below, he wore a smug grin.
Then—
The moment his head cleared the top, a firebomb smashed straight into his face.
He lost his grip and fell.
Fourth revival.
This time, he learned.
He stayed on the ladder, waiting patiently until every firebomb had been thrown. Only then did he poke his head up, grab the audacious attacker, and toss them down to be eaten by the dogs.
One tiny ladder.
It had killed him twice.
Darrick felt utterly exhausted—body and soul.
How the hell did Artorias get through here back then…?
The good news was that once he climbed up, the space opened up, making ambushes less likely.
The bad news—
The monsters here were Infested Barbarians.
One sword strike didn't even make them flinch.
"Boom!"
A massive, bloated monster slammed its blade into the ground, shattering the wooden floor instantly. Its belly was split open by a massive wound, yet it ignored the injury and charged at Darrick regardless.
Darrick was used to relying on the Farron Greatsword's impact to stagger enemies before chaining attacks.
The Infested Barbarians were his worst nightmare.
He barely managed to defeat one.
Then he looked ahead.
Three—no, four more Infested Barbarians wandered in the distance.
And those were just the visible ones.
Darrick's gaze went completely dead.
Activating his wolf blood—its cooldown resetting with every revival—he entered true man mode and sprinted like his life depended on it.
There was a lever nearby, next to an elevator.
If he could just reach it—
Chased by five Infested Barbarians, Darrick finally grabbed the lever and yanked it with all his strength.
[The mechanism does not move.]
"Mother—!"
Fifth revival.
Darrick squatted on the ground, questioning existence itself.
"Why haven't I died for good yet…?"
After drawing circles on the ground for half an hour, he even considered quitting—
But there was no quit button.
Sighing, he forced himself to continue.
Overall, exploring the fortress became a cycle of endless death and revival—learning through failure, then using that experience to push forward.
Darrick felt like this place was a condensed embodiment of the Sein Dungeon's malice.
Traps that had once been spread across multiple regions were now compressed into this tiny fortress, causing the difficulty to spike sharply.
Even he hadn't fully adapted yet.
Let alone anyone who came after him.
Yet despite everything, the fortress's design continually impressed him—mechanisms, shortcuts, hidden doors, all interwoven flawlessly.
Die. Revive. Die again. Revive again.
Darrick lost count of how many times he had died. He moved forward numbly, absorbing experience through sheer repetition.
"How many times have I died… exactly?"
Snapping out of his haze, panic suddenly flickered in his eyes.
Something was wrong.
Judging by time alone, it should almost be time for the Sein Dungeon to close.
So why—
Why hadn't he been kicked out yet?
In that instant, the entire world turned eerie.
"…I can't get out?"